


The Many

by EmmyJay



Series: Ivory Ascending [7]
Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: (which is good because she really needs them), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Gen, Hive Mind, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Imprisonment, Seladon Gets More Friends, Sibling Bonding, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-07 03:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyJay/pseuds/EmmyJay
Summary: Because sometimes, comfort comes from an unlikely source.
Relationships: Seladon/skekSo (Dark Crystal) (mentioned), Tavra & Seladon (Dark Crystal)
Series: Ivory Ascending [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528451
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seladon hurts and rages, and comes face-to-not-face with a previous acquaintance.

Seladon fled the Emperor's chamber as soon as her legs would support her, pulling on the tattered remnants of her dress to hide her shame. Already she could feel bruises forming, scratches bleeding on her hips and chest. The spill inside her (do not think about it, don't—) had begun a slow, viscous trickle down her thighs the moment she stood, but she couldn't stop to clean herself—not when the Emperor might still return, deciding he wasn't yet finished with her.

She didn't take the comb when she left; however useful it might have been, she didn't want to look at it again. Nor did she flee through the window above the bed, be it to fly to freedom or jump to her death. The latter she had considered guiltily, recalling the childish tales her sisters had loved so much, of heroes and martyrs who chose death before dishonour. Seladon had always scoffed at those sorts of endings, seeing suicide as the coward's way out; now she wondered if **she** was the coward, lacking even the strength to end her own life.

Nor was escape an option, not any more—even if she fled this place, where would she go? Who would welcome the fool All-Maudra who had been reduced to a tyrant's whore? Especially once they learned of her role in her peoples' destruction.

The Drenchen. The General had surely reached the Sog by now, his quarry surely captured. Would the Emperor feed her Maudra Laesid, as he had fed her Maudra Fara? What of Laesid's children? Her husband?

The door of Seladon's room did not lock from the inside, but she barred it as best she could, dragging over the small wooden table and chair she had been provided. As safe as she could be and finally in her own bed (no, not hers, but familiar at least) she allowed the full effects of the Essence to wash over her—let the faces of stolen Gelfling encompass her with their thoughts and fears, their love, their secrets. A great and terrible mass loomed before her, glowing and violet and broken, the last thing she saw through unimaginable pain.

"It will pass," she whispered, repeating it over and over to herself, her only comfort against the noise. "I am the All-Maudra. I am the leader of the Gelfling."

Even as she said the words, she knew them to be a lie.

\---

At some point Seladon must have fallen asleep, because she woke still in bed, hearing a familiar scuttling across her floor. She rolled onto her side, wincing at the throbbing in her skull, though the voices had faded to a low, indistinguishable hum. It seemed she had slept through the worst of the effects of the Essence, however long that had taken.

In the otherwise quiet of the room the scuttling continued, and Seladon searched with her eyes for its source. It took her a moment to find the creature in the dark, in part because its silhouette had changed: no longer did it bear the searching eye, now just the three leaf-like limbs. Even so she felt it looking at her, and she scrambled from bed, wincing when the sudden, jarring movement caused pain to flare at the apex of her thighs. Gingerly she lowered herself to kneel on the floor, and the creature dashed to meet her, crawling to perch on the edge of her knees; its touch was featherlight, almost tickling on her bare skin.

"You are alone now," she observed, commenting on her previous assumption that eye and limbs were not of a singular entity. The creature made no motion to confirm or deny her suspicions, and she laughed bitterly at its silence.

_'Not even the vermin want anything to with me any more.'_ Except that wasn't wholly correct, was it—the Chamberlain would no doubt still be waiting to shower her with attention, after all. Seladon laughed again, a wretched and humourless sound; the creature in her lap continued to watch, silent and motionless.

"Why is this happening to me?" she asked, knowing that she would receive no answer. "I have done everything for the good of Thra, and all Gelfling! I have sacrificed, and endured, and done all that was asked of me! I have been loyal—"

_"Loyal Seladon."_

The words echoed in her mind, as clearly as when she had first heard them in the strange place between dreams, standing before a power-hungry witch who preached chaos and ruin. She remembered the crone's eye as it had fell upon her, called her loyal; the same eye that had cast judgment upon her at Stone-In-The-Wood, glittering with warning, calling her blind.

The same eye that had perched upon the creature when last they met.

Realisation descended like a cold shroud, bathing Seladon in ice. She looked down at the creature in her lap, still sitting motionless; her mouth opened in horror.

"Mother Aughra."

Of course the creature did not speak, but she did not need it to—she felt the truth in a deep, ancient part of herself, the one that had ached to heed the witch's pleas to turn back. Aughra had been here. Aughra had seen her, known her plight.

But the eye was not there now; Aughra had not returned. Seladon's mind spun with a thousand reasons why this might be, but in her encroaching misery she could reach only one conclusion: Aughra had deemed her lost. Aughra had abandoned her.

Thra had abandoned her.

It was only when the tears began landing on her lap in fat, wet drops that Seladon realised she was weeping, wretched and broken; a childling lost in the woods, waiting to be devoured by a monster with vicious claws and hungry eyes. All for wanting whatever it was any childling wanted: her heart's desire, a mother's approval, the world at peace.

_'As if I could ever have been the one to achieve peace.'_ Even the other Skeksis had called her cold-hearted, the Ritual Master's tone almost approving of the observation. At the time she had steeled herself, believing that this was the true meaning of power, the ability to make the hard choices. Now she looked back, and she wanted to scream at herself for her foolishness, her blindness, her own assurance in what she had been taught.

No wonder Aughra had left her to her fate—she wasn't anything worth saving.

"Is there any chance left for me?" she asked aloud—still without hope of an answer, without hope at all. "Is this how I am meant to end, abandoned and defiled? Am I to spend the rest of my days in this place?"

The creature stared up at her, silent as ever. But now it moved, limbs shifting, bending, its body hunkering down. Seladon realised its intent a moment before it happened, but by then it was too late—the creature launched toward her face, limbs grasping onto her cheek even as she flailed, batting wildly in a fruitless attempt to dislodge it. Something leeched into her skin, tendrils attaching, snaking inward, though physically or mentally Seladon could not discern. Her mind reeled, pulled toward them like a Sifan fisherman bringing in his catch, and there

was

only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, this was supposed to end where it did, I didn't accidentally forget a line.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time of grief, mourning, and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning to everyone: while the next installment ('Favour and Failure') should be soon to come, installments after that are likely to be delayed, because my muse for this story roundhouse kicked me in the face and threw in a whole new element that's forcing me to revise A Lot.
> 
> Thankfully, said revisions don't start until AFTER the bits I already have written, so i won't have to actually re-write much, but...yeah. Gonna need some time to re-organise.
> 
> This is what happens when you're a perfectionist who thinks too hard about how to close some gaps between your garbage story and canon. Beware, kids.

_noise_.

That was the first thing Seladon registered: the never-ending racket of it all, a thousand voices speaking to one another yet to themselves, to **her**. It was like the hum of insects, or a ringing in one's ears—something constant and droning. It touched her mind, her mind touched back, and she felt a weightlessness, as though she had left her body behind.

Except—no, that wasn't right. She could still feel her body, the cold floor beneath her; see the familiar patterns in familiar stone walls all around her. But her mind had opened wide, exposing her more than she had ever been, flayed and vulnerable. Like the time she threw wide the windows of Mayrin's solar during a storm: wind and sleet and freezing cold rushing down from the mountains and into the room, the space that should have been shielded—the sounds of nature hiding those of her screaming against it as she stood, gripping the balcony railing so hard her knuckled went white, caught up in an emotion she could not name.

_Euphoria,_ the answer came. _You felt the storm's rage, and you wanted to be just as free. No one could hear you—the Paladins would not come running, your mother would not come scolding. So you threw open the windows and screamed with Thra, a moment in secret to be held in your heart._

It was a thought in Seladon's head that was not her own, and its presence struck a lance of fear straight through her. Againsrt her rising panic she managed a question—_what is this, who are you?_—and the noise grew around her, weaving together until it towered in thunderous singularity.

"The Ascendancy sees you, Gelfling," the answer came, a thousand voices joined. "We are All Arathim as One."

It was not like dreamfasting, the sharing of oneself; it was not even the same as Essence poured down her throat, the stealing of it. Instead the words echoed in her mind, as natural as her own heartbeat, and it was all Seladon could do not to scream in terror to hear them.

She knew of the Arathim, of course: knew of their treachery, how they had turned on their rightful Lords, rising against Skeksis and Gelfling alike in their impudence. The mere thought of long-ago history lessons caused a swell of outrage, voices crying _lies, lies,_ until Seladon could only cradle her head in her hands, whimpering softly. The presence of so many minds weaving in and out of her own, the clamour of voices in her head—she quailed beneath its onslaught, begging _mercy_, _I'm sorry_, her whole body trembling.

"Seladon?" A single voice cut through the commotion, familiar and beloved and oh-so welcome. "Seladon!"

Seladon gasped, her head snapping up, eyes searching desperately as though there was anyone there for her to see. "Tavra?!"

The rush of emotion that came from one or both of them was shared by all, affection and relief and heartache echoing from all sides. It was an intrusion, too strong to be ignored, and Seladon cringed away from it. "Tavra, where are you? Are you safe? What about Brea, is she with you?"

"I'm safe; though I do not know where Brea is." Unlike her, Tavra seemed unbothered by the surrounding presence, all of her unease and anxiety focused instead on thoughts of her sisters. "Seladon, where are **you**? Nobody's had word of you in almost two unum! What's happened to you?"

Seladon could not find the words to answer, but it seemed she did not need to. The Emperor's hungry eyes loomed to the forefront of her mind: his teeth upon her, his claws, other parts of him inside her. The Ascendancy murmured all around, a din of shock, sorrow, anger—all of it expected, but no less a blow, and Seladon bowed her head in disgrace.

"It was my price to pay," she acknowledged, and when she spoke the outrage rose like a tidal wave. Yet it did not come for her; instead it fell upon the eyes still watching, sweeping them away like so much sand on the shores of Ha'rar, dragging them out to sea where they could no longer see her.

"No," the voices chorused, "no."

"But this is my fault!" Seladon protested, though the words faltered as she spoke, her faith in them shaken by the rush of emotion. "Don't you know what's happened? The Stonewood clan, Maudra Fara, Mother—"

The mention of Mayrin brought another swell of emotion, a sorrow so all-consuming she nearly collapsed under its weight. A presence surrounded her, within it the arms that had always supported her when she felt her weakest, the one who had always called her strongest. They were familiar, a cherished comfort, and Seladon fell into them, wrapping her thoughts around sister's as they shared their grief, with each other and the cacophony around them.

Seladon had not mourned Mayrin. How could she? The late All-Maudra had been a traitor, too easily swayed from the path set for them by the Lords. The moment when she vowed to mend the discord sowed by that weakness, she had closed the door to that part of her heart, the one that had always ached to be seen.

But a door closed was not a room emptied, and now the frame was ruptured at the seams, all the suffering she thought she'd burned converging on her like an oncoming storm. And they felt it, all of them, every voice rising to meet her cries, Tavra at their forefront: joining her in anguish for all she had done, all she had lost—all she had failed.

"**I** was the traitor," Seladon choked out, and heard again the echoes: _no, no._ "It is the truth! Aughra told me I was making a terrible mistake, but I didn't listen! And then I stood before the Skeksis, and I offered my own to them—I saw them for what they were, and I offered Gelfling lives in exchange for peace! The Stonewood clan are gone because **I failed**!"

The memories were neither shared nor stolen—they simply _were_. A thousand minds recalled her treachery as one, a knowledge without learning: her head held high in the throne room, composure slipping with each cruel refusal; the deep cut of revelation; and finally, a bargain made in blood. _"Seven Gelfling from each clan,"_ she had offered, her own people for the sake of false peace—and even that, refused. A hum rose among the Ascendancy, traveling across the voices; a creature musing to itself.

"Save the Many by sacrificing the Few," they chorused, and Seladon recognised the words as her own, never spoken aloud but thought, over and over in resolution. "Yet the Few _are_ the Many; **All** are the Many. To sacrifice One, is to sacrifice All."

There was no malice in the admonishment; only a stern sort of sorrow, Mayrin's (_Mother's_) disappointment when she slipped out of line, the lines around the All-Maudra's mouth tightening in displeasure to see her arrive at court with her wings askew yet again. And same as when she crumpled under that judgement, she felt her sister catch her now, holding her up when she teetered on the edge of misery's yawning chasm.

"It was the Arathim who gathered the Stonewood clan, brought them to the Castle under Skeksis orders," Tavra said, gently. "If you are to blame, then so are we."

Her sister was not truly there, Seladon knew, yet she swore she could feel Tavra's hands taking her own. The echo of it recalled them running through the palace as childlings, herself nearly dragging along the younger sister who had only just barely learned to walk. "When did you become so strong?"

Tavra chuckled softly in response. "I could ask the same of you."

Humour, grief, affection—all of it rippled across the Ascendancy, a sensation Seladon didn't think she could ever get used to, even as she felt its familiarity from a thousand cycles of a thousand lifetimes. At the least, the feeling was no longer frightening to her—though how much of that was her own doing, and how much was simply a part of its nature, she could not say.

"The Emperor betrayed us," the voices continued. "He promised us our home, but it was only a grave, a poisoned fly. We died there—would have died again, and again, until nothing was left.

"It was Gelfling who saved us; Gelfling who spoke to us as kin, bore us out of the darkness." From within the anger at the Skeksis betrayal, there bloomed among the Ascendancy another emotion: a soft, gentle warmth for the ones who had come to their aide, in spite of all they had done.

_'They were forgiven.'_ The thought was not wholly Seladon's own, if the whispers on its edges were any indication, but she considered it all the same. Thra had not abandoned the Arathim, despite what they had done to the Stonewood clan; was it possible it had not abandoned her, as well? Despite her own crimes, her head turned in blindness to the evils at her doorstep, a name given as the air was squeezed from her—

"The Drenchen!" she cried out; then, remembering she spoke aloud, she lowered her voice. "The Skeksis are marching on the Sog," she continued. "They plan to take the Drenchen, same as they took the Stonewood—same as they plan to take all of the clans!"

The Ascendancy was unsurprised by her warning. Indeed, they rose in a swell of gleeful anticipation, and through them Seladon felt the rocky ground give way to marsh beneath thousands of marching limbs.

"The Skeksis will not take the Drenchen," they promised. "**We** are their army; **we** will show _them_ what it means to be betrayed!"

"There is a Resistance." Tavra's voice cut apart from the rest once more. "It's small, but growing. Maudra Laesid will join with us; the other clans will follow. Gelfling and Arathim, united. And together, we will see the end of Skeksis power."

There was a time, not so terribly long ago, that Seladon would have balked at the idea of rising against the Skeksis. It was they, after all, who had given Gelfling every comfort they had, given rise to their glory; they to whom all Gelfling owed their allegience, fealty sworn in perpetuity. Now, with eyes forced open by unspeakable horrors, she still balked—but for a different reason.

"How?" she asked, bewildered. "We cannot stand against the Skeksis; they are stronger than us!"

"Perhaps." There was a slyness to Tavra's voice, the kind that often crept in when she was confident that she had the upper-hand. "But our numbers are greater. Our many, against their few; I like those odds."

Seladon made a noise of frustration.

"Numbers don't matter!" she hissed back. "For Thra's sake, Tavra—you sat through the same history lessons I did! You learned of the same battles: where and when they were fought, the names of their heroes, who died where! No one has succeeded against the Skeksis in all of history, no one!

"And you," she turned her focus toward the rest, eyes staring into a corner for want of anyone to focus on, "you should know as well! Twice the Arathim have rebelled, and twice you have failed! What difference do you believe a third time make?"

A hum of acknowledgement rippled across the Ascendancy. "Arathim could not defeat Skeksis," they agreed. "Nor could Gelfling." Another hum, this one like laughter—delighted, eager—and in it Seladon realised she could hear the same lilt of Tavra's confidence.

"Arathim and Gelfling together, however? May stand a chance."

It was a strange feeling, hope; just under two unum without it, yet already it seemed so foreign to Seladon, like an extra limb growing out of the emptiness that had swallowed her heart. It would have been easy to dismiss the feeling as not her own, as something bleeding in from Tavra, or from the thousands surrounding her—their foolishness, their absurdity, their blind reaching for something impossible.

And yet...

"You are mad," she breathed, only half a jest. "You're absolutely mad."

"No I'm not," Tavra countered, and Seladon could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm _fun_."

The laugh that escaped Seladon was her first real one in what felt like trine, since even before all this had begun. When **was** the last time she had truly laughed? It had been home in Ha'rar, certainly—somewhere in private, away from the prying stares of the court, or the sighs and scolding of Mother. If she thought, she could nearly picture the three of them: herself, Tavra, and dear little Brea; together in a rare moment of quiet, without quarrels or duties or eyes that followed into her nightmares, a lifetime away from this wretched world that had turned so wrong.

Again, it was only in feeling the tears fall into her lap that Seladon realised she was weeping once more—in sorrow, relief, exhaustion, all of it tangled inside her. It was not the first time she had understood that the world she knew before was gone; she had known that since her earliest nights sitting with the Chamberlain, bearing his patronising affections. But now, she saw the potential for some sort of future, a world ahead that would never be the same.

"No," Tavra agreed, and though she was not there to wipe the tears away, Seladon felt the gesture all the same. "But whatever comes, we will be together—the three of us, always."

There it was again: the feeling of hope, a glimpse of light through the shadows. After too many nights of darkness, Seladon found it almost blinding.

"I'll help the Resistance," she promised, gasping the words. "Any way that I can. Anything that I can do, any price I have to pay—I'll help you overthrow the Skeksis. For Thra; for Mother."

_'For myself.'_

Affection and gratitude rippled across the Ascendancy, bathing her in their warmth. "The Ascendancy accepts your offer of aid," they chorused, "Loyal Seladon." Again and again it echoed: "Loyal Seladon, Loyal Seladon." But also "Brave Seladon," "Strong Seladon," "Noble Seladon."

"Beautiful Seladon." The last was Tavra's voice, brimming with love. "So beautiful."

The emotions converged on her, lifting her higher with every pulse. And then they broke over her like a wave, spilling away, the Threader falling gently into her lap.

Alone in her own head once more, Seladon looked down at the creature, and even without the eye atop its body any longer, she knew it was looking back.

"Thank you," she said, and meant it. The Threader observed her a moment longer, dipping shallowly in recognition. Then it scuttled away, leaving Seladon fully alone, kneeling on the floor of her room.

"I am the All-Maudra," she whispered to the silence. "I am the leader of the Gelfling."

And for the first time since her arrival to the castle, when she spoke the words—she believed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not convinced I really did Tavra justice here, but...eh. It is what it is.


End file.
